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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24312709">The world doesn't warn you when you're meeting your future husband</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monna99/pseuds/Monna99'>Monna99</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Band of Brothers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>AU, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bartender!Lipton, Cop!Speirs, Hijinks, M/M, Misunderstandings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 03:49:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>14,471</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24312709</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monna99/pseuds/Monna99</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Eight cops walk into a bar. It's not a joke, it's Lip's Tuesday night.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Carwood Lipton/Ronald Speirs</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>78</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Disastrous Introductions</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Totally silly and self-indulgent</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They were back again. This time there were a few new faces in the mix, but mostly they were patrons he’d come to recognize.</p><p>Lip closed his eyes and silently counted back from ten. Slowly. Nope, he was still irritated and the men were still there. Oh, most of them were good boys really, but Cobb, Dike, Evans and Sobel tended to act like pretentious assholes to the staff and guests alike; and they always left a terrible mess behind as though it were their right to treat others like their personal servants. </p><p>Even some of the men who were starting to become regulars, whom he was starting to think of as “his” boys, were being problematic tonight. He glanced down the bar where Wild Bill, Luz, Compton and Liebgott were shouting and knocking their beer glasses against the bar, loudly competing with one another about whose heart was more broken.</p><p>“Ah, screw her, Buck,” Guarnere proclaimed loudly over the blaring background music.   </p><p>Buck slumped over the bar, flushed, tears standing out in his eyes. “That’s the problem,” he moaned, “I’ll never screw her again!”</p><p>The men surrounding him hooted and hollered and burst into laughter. “Just get another piece of ass, Buck!” Another of the men called out.  “I’m sure we can find you some here tonight.” He threw an arm over the woman beside him and turned to inspect the room. The young women sitting at the bar in front of Lip both tensed as his gaze landed on them. “Hey, there’s some ass right there!”</p><p>Lip ground his teeth and winced an apology to the women who looked uncomfortable. “I’m sorry, I’ll ask them to stop with the comments.”</p><p>He threw his bar rag over his shoulder and walked down to them, arms crossed. Usually they settled down when they could see he was getting annoyed but tonight they were much too drunk. “Boys,” he called sharply over the music, laughter, ribbing and yells for more drinks, “it’s time to call it a night. You’ve had enough.” He motioned for Toye, their bouncer, but he was caught up with Sobel’s group. As long as things didn’t end in a brawl, Lip would call it a good night. </p><p>“Aww, come on, Hot Bartender. We ain’t ready to go yet. Hey, hook us up with those chicks, huh?”</p><p>Lip narrowed his eyes at the teeny-bopper newcomer who spoke up. He was the same one who’d made that tasteless comment. “Do. Not. Harass. Those. Women.”</p><p>The others laughed and Carwood was about to snap at them when Webster tapped his shoulder. He nodded toward the office. “Delivery!” he yelled over the ruckus. Carwood nodded and handed Web his rag. As he moved away, he could hear Liebgott already giving the kid a hard time. What was it with those two? Anytime they were within sight of each other it was like gasoline meeting an open flame. Everyone else just stayed back and hoped not to get singed. </p><p>He walked around the bar and as he was passing the restrooms, the door opened suddenly, nearly clipping him on the nose. He caught the edge of the wood, holding it as the man on the other side swayed drunkenly. </p><p>He glanced up and Lip’s fingers tightened, his breath catching. Oh, God. It was him. The beautiful dark-haired man who sometimes (three times) had made an appearance with the boys. Lip had never seen him drunk before. Generally, he’d order a beer or two and be done but tonight his stunning green eyes were glassy and blood-shot. “Are you--” was barely out of his mouth when the man, Lip still didn’t know his name, lurched forward, nearly falling, and Lip automatically released the door to catch him. </p><p>“Huh?” The man raised his head, blinking blearily. “Heeeey,” he drawled lazily -- or maybe just drunkenly. “Have I told you you’re kinda hot?" He glanced down and smirked. “I’m digging the short-shorts.”</p><p>Carwood flushed darkly. The tiny dark shorts along with the white undershirt were what passed for a uniform in Currahee. It had taken some getting used to.</p><p>The man chuckled darkly and goosebumps rose on Lipton’s arms, throat going dry, especially when the man wrapped his arms around Carwood’s shoulders, body clinging as he maneuvered them to the corner, mostly out of sight. Carwood glanced up wildly and caught the gaze of a customer whose expression morphed into that of someone who'd smelled something rancid when he spotted them. He glared disapprovingly before slamming the bathroom door behind him. Lip barely noticed. He swallowed hard, feeling nimble fingers card through his hair, that gaze catching his, holding him immobile. “You’re that bartender,” he slurred. “I’ve seen you looking at me. Staring.”</p><p>And here Lip had thought he couldn’t get any more flushed. His heart began to pound and his world narrowed to those fingers, the heat and firmness of that chest pressed to his and the unsteady, alcohol-perfumed breaths against his lips. “Oh--I--that--”</p><p>The man snorted a laugh and trailed one hand down Lip’s arm, igniting flashes of heat until he gripped Lipton’s hip, fingers digging in hard so that maybe Lip would bruise. Just a little. Smudges of dark shaped like fingertips and Lip couldn’t help opening his mouth on a small groan at the thought. He’d thought the music would mask the sound, but no luck.</p><p>“Yeah,” the man muttered, “I knew you’d be hot for it. All the badge-bunnies are. Fuck, you’re sexy like this. Built like a brick shithouse. Look at you.”</p><p>It took a second for the words and their meaning to register and when they did, it was like being dunked in an ice bath. He gasped and stiffened. “What?” he asked faintly. Not that he wanted to hear it again. </p><p>The man grinned stupidly, drunkenly. “Wanna suck me, badge-bunny?” He reached down and gripped himself. “Come on, I’ll give you what you’ve been begging me for with those pretty eyes.”</p><p>It was impossible to have his heart broken. He didn’t even know this man, but it sure as hell hurt anyway. He shoved the other man away, sending him sprawling, slamming onto the floor as his chest rose and fell rapidly, fury and hurt building in his veins. God, he was an idiot. He’d thought maybe, just maybe this guy was decent. He’d smiled so sweetly at Lip the first time their eyes had met and his voice had been low but firm and he hadn’t gotten loud and drunk like his friends, hitting on women  -- or men for that matter -- left and right. He’d been polite and restrained and--</p><p>Lip could admit that maybe he’d developed something of an instant crush on the guy. Crushed being exactly how he felt now. </p><p>The man was on the floor, dazed, but he shoved to his feet with surprising speed and coordination given how he’d been hanging off of Lipton a second ago. “What the hell?!” he growled. “Wanna explain that?”</p><p>Seriously? Was this guy for real? He stepped forward, his anger and indignation mounting. </p><p>“Whoa!” Lip heard from behind. He turned his head and saw Luz and Guarnere staring at them, shocked. “I think it’s time to go, sir,” Luz said, stepping around Lip and grabbing hold of his friend’s arm. </p><p>Those green eyes narrowed and turned on Luz. “The hell it is.”</p><p>“No, no, I gotta agree with him, LT,” Bill chimed in. “It’s way past my bedtime.” </p><p>They ushered the man away with much grumbling and Lip slumped against the wall, feeling sick. What a disappointment. Not only was green-eyes not the sweet, wonderful, kind man Lip had imagined, he was a complete asshole. His stomach churched at the remembered <em>badge bunnies</em> comment. </p><p>“Lip?” Carwood glanced up and gave Perconte, their supplier, a wan smile. </p><p>“Hey, Perc. Sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you waiting. You get everything unloaded?”</p><p>His friend nodded, frowning. “Are you okay, Lip? You don’t look so good.”</p><p>Carwood straightened and took a deep breath. “I’m fine,” he assured, firmly. “Just getting over a bug.”</p><p>“Yeah?” Frank glanced over his shoulder at the men who were leaving. “The two-legged kind?”</p><p>“Nah,” Lip responded with forced cheer. He determined to forget the whole unpleasant episode. It wasn’t like he’d ever see that asshole again. </p><p>Probably.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>***excited borderline manic grin***</p><p>What did you think!?!?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. A Rude Awakening</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Speirs woke up with a headache to end all headaches the next morning. He was queasy, his mouth tasted like something had died in it and he was drenched in sweat after a fitful night of tossing and turning punctuated by loud arguing from the neighbors. Just one more reason to move. </p><p>He rolled over onto his back and immediately regretted it as his stomach heaved, the pounding in his head got worse and his bladder woke up with an urgent news bulletin. Jesus Christ, he was never drinking vodka again. What the hell had he been thinking? He stumbled to his feet and made his way to the bathroom to relieve himself, eyes mostly closed to keep the bright morning light from stabbing his brain. </p><p>After brushing his teeth and a cold shower, he felt almost human again. He dumped his clothes -- he’d still been wearing yesterday’s jeans and shirt -- into the hamper and stripped his bed, snapping out fresh sheets. He’d just finished lacing his running shoes when his door bounced under five energetic knocks. Cops’s knocks. He grumbled under his breath as he went to the door. </p><p>“Hey, Speirs!” Welsh greeted too damned loudly, grinning from ear to ear. “Heard you got pretty shit-faced last night.” He shoved a coffee cup into Ron’s hands and stepped inside without waiting for an invitation. Probably because he knew there would be no invitation. </p><p>“I’m not in the mood, Harry,” he warned but took a drink of the coffee anyway. No sense letting it go to waste. </p><p>“I bet. Man, wish I could have been there. And Dick missed it, too.”</p><p>Speirs winced, grateful now that the redhead had begged off last night. Ron mostly bore the get-togethers stoically. He understood that it was good to have some connection with the men, but he didn’t want them thinking he was their best friend. He wasn’t. He was their supervisor, plain and simple. “Kitty feeling better?” he asked as Welsh threw himself on the plush, boat-sized couch. </p><p>Harry waved his hand dismissively. “She’s fine, it was mostly hormones.”</p><p>“Yeah? You say that to her face?”</p><p>The other man grinned. “Of course I do! Just not loud enough for her to hear,” he admitted.</p><p>Ron snorted and took a seat, leaning back and closing his eyes. He had a hell of a lot to do but damned if he had the energy to do any of it. He rubbed at the bridge of his nose, wincing at a painful twinge in his back. How the hell--</p><p>“Fuck. Fuck!” He jerked up, startling Harry but he didn’t care because …. <em>Oh Jesus Christ</em>. Last night had just reached up to bite him on the ass. And he remembered why his back was acting up.</p><p>“What?!” Harry demanded, looking around suspiciously. </p><p><em>Goddamn it.</em> The images came one after another, each worse than the last. </p><p>Hanging with the guys hadn’t been so bad at first. He’d started off with beer like he always did. He hardly ever went for the hard shit. But after a few hours, he’d started to feel restless and on edge and then he’d started pounding back vodka tonics. He couldn't even pinpoint when he'd crossed into falling-on-his-ass-drunk territory, just that he’d stumbled outside for a quick smoke when the noise from the men had gotten too loud -- something else he wouldn’t have allowed in his right mind. He was fairly sure the “quick smoke” had turned into more than an hour of stupidly staring into space and listening to a couple of women talking about the best place for wings. </p><p>Eventually, he'd maneuvered his way back inside and after a pit-stop at the bathroom, he’d tripped, almost literally, over the bartender. </p><p>He groaned and gripped his head making Harry laugh. “That good, huh?”</p><p>“That bad,” he snapped. “I was a piece of shit to … to someone who didn’t deserve it,” he finished softly. Just remembering the hurt in those brown eyes was a punch to the gut. What the fuck had he done? He liked the guy, Lip, he remembered the men calling him. He was soft-spoken and sweet with a sharp mind, a killer smile and, yes, thighs like goddamn tree trunks. Thighs he’d imaged wrapped around his waist more than once, but he’d never <em>never</em> intended to practically attack him the way he had. Jesus Christ, he couldn’t show his face at that bar again. Lip would be well within his rights to deck him. </p><p>“What happened?” Welsh asked after a prolonged silence. “‘Cause I’m in pretty good with some cops. Might be able to help you out.” </p><p>Ron glowered at his flippancy. “I assaulted the bartender, all right?” he bit out. </p><p>Welsh shrugged. “I’ve been there.” He lifted his cup in salute. “Not since I’ve been a cop, mind you, but I’ve been there.” His smirk dropped suddenly and he sat forward. “Wait, oh fuck, tell me it wasn’t Lip. No one in their right mind would assault Lipton. The goddamn squad will have your ass for breakfast. Once they recover,” he added prosaically. </p><p>Speirs swallowed. Not in fear -- well, not in fear of those wet-behind-the-ears recruits who weren’t worth the damn effort to pound them into the ground -- no, but he was afraid he’d fucked everything up. Just when he was marshaling the courage to ask Lip out on a date. The glances and the small smiles Lip gave him had given him hope that maybe someone that well-liked and kind would take a chance on a hardass like Ron. Except now--</p><p>Now there was no chance in hell.</p><p>“You really attacked Lip?” Welsh demanded in disbelief. “What’d he do? Smile too much? Was he too considerate? I mean, Christ the guy clearly has a thing for you--”</p><p>“Shut the hell up, Welsh.” He stood and dumped the coffee down the kitchen drain. “And get out. I’ve got a busy day.”</p><p>******</p><p>He did have a busy day. It hadn’t been a lie when he’d said that to Welsh. Waking up late and with the hangover from hell definitely hadn’t helped put him on schedule. </p><p>But he still found himself parked across the street from the back entrance of Currahee. Lipton was there, stacking crates of empty bottles for pickup before the bar opened. He was wearing a white t-shirt and blue jeans this time and both emphasized the excellent shape he was in as he hefted box after box. </p><p>Ron ran a hand through his hair, frustrated and lost. Lip would definitely never want to see him again, but Ron couldn’t just leave things like that. He’d been an ass and he had to make amends somehow. No matter what it took. But he'd give Lip some space, give him a chance to cool down before approaching him.  And maybe the other man might forgive him.</p><p>Speirs started up his car and peeled away.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Oh, Speirs. *shakes head*</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Say It Like You Mean It</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There was a red, rapidly blinking light on his desk phone when he got into work the next day. Wonderful. He set his files, laptop and radio down and hit the button to play the first message. </p><p>
  <em>LT, I need the timestamp for the warrant authorization from the fifth. I forgot to add it to my report.</em>
</p><p>Idiot. </p><p><em>Ron, I wanted to call to personally congratulate you on the ten pounds of meth and forty pounds of weed bust. Is it true you pistol-whipped the guy? Call me back when you get this.</em> </p><p>Like hell. Dike was nothing but a social climber and -- worse -- an aspiring politician. The man would take any chance to be seen with someone who’d garnered media attention. Ron powered up his desktop, letting the remainder of the messages play and hit the button for “Delete All” afterward. His email went much through the same treatment, including the email from the mayor asking for a picture with him and the drugs. Fuck that, the local news agencies had already taken pictures of the bust for their papers. He wasn’t about to play their goddamn dancing monkey. Besides, he was sure Strayer was already handling all of that. It was pretty much all the man was good for. </p><p>“Ron?” He glanced up at the open door to see Winters standing there, arms crossed, frowning. “What are you doing here?”</p><p>“Checking my messages,” he answered curtly, deliberately misunderstanding. He ripped open the first envelope from his stack of mail. It was a letter from a concerned citizen demanding more patrolling on Third Street since the man believed it was a hotbed of illegal activity. The next letter was a complaint against him. “These are for you,” he added and tossed them both to the other man.</p><p>Winters glanced them over and snorted, dropping into the seat across from him. “You need to attend your three department-authorized psychologist appointments. You’re not allowed back before then.”</p><p>What a load of horseshit. That was no doubt Sobel’s doing. Asshole really had a thing for tying them up with worthless bureaucratic red tape. Ron leaned back in his seat, fighting to keep his expression neutral. Not that Winters didn’t know exactly how he felt about Sobel. It wasn’t exactly a secret that the guy was universally unpopular. To put it mildly. “Why the hell do I need psych visits for catching a guy with drugs? Most of us catch guys with drugs.”</p><p>“True,” Winters agreed calmly, “but most of us don’t almost get shot in the head and end up punching the perp with his own gun. It’d be normal to feel shaky after an experience like that.”</p><p>“You feel shaky after the near-stabbing you had six months ago?” he shot back. It was a rhetorical question. Winters hadn’t taken any time off -- hell, he hadn’t even taken the day off -- and he sure as hell had never had department mandated psych appointments. But Winters shocked him.</p><p>“I did,” he answered simply, unashamed, “and I regret that I came back to work the next day like nothing was bothering me. It was. I just wasn’t dealing with it. You need to take a break, Ron. Deal with what happened to you.”</p><p>He looked away, jaw working. “I’m dealing, okay?”</p><p>“Is that why you got drunk and had a run-in with the bartender of Currahee? That was you dealing with it?”</p><p>He stiffened, anger flaring. “Tongues have been wagging, huh?” Someone’s head was going to roll. “And, no,” he responded when Dick opened his mouth, “that had nothing to do with this shit.”</p><p>Dick sighed, looking at a loss, and Ron almost felt sorry for him. He liked Winters, but the man tried to shoulder too goddamn much. “Look, Dick, I appreciate you trying to look out, but I’m a big boy. If I say I’m fine, I’m fine. I don’t need the damn appointments.”</p><p>The redhead stared at him for long moments and Ron met that gaze squarely, unflinching. “All right,” the man finally agreed reluctantly. “I’ll talk to Strayer, but I do want you to take a few days off.”</p><p>“The hell--” he began, but Winters held up a silencing hand. </p><p>“You’ve been trying to find a new place, right? And you’re busy with getting all your things packed. Just … take a few days to get all of that sorted out.”</p><p>He opened his mouth to argue once again, but -- well, it’s not like he couldn’t use the time to get his life organized. He stared, unseeing, at the computer screen’s desktop. “All right,” he agreed finally. “A few days.”</p><p>******</p><p>Ron knew the exact moment Lipton spotted him. His open, friendly expression became pained for just a second before it smoothed out into neutrality. Okay, ouch. But then, it’s what he’d been expecting, right? Well, no, actually, he’d been expecting a hell of a lot worse. Something more along the lines of open hostility. He should have known that Lip was simply too sweet even for that. </p><p>Well, in for a penny, in for a pound. He made a beeline for the bar -- no point in acting coy about why he was there. He approached the area where Lip was taking drink orders but when he skirted past several people, the man was clear at the other end of the bar. Okay, maybe that was a coincidence. Ron walked toward the bartender and suddenly Carwood hightailed it out of there again. </p><p>Goddamn it. Ron blew out a sharp breath and grabbed an empty seat at the bar, nodding politely to the woman who turned to smile at him. </p><p>“Hi,” she greeted, running her gaze discreetly over his body. Not discreetly enough. “Hey, maybe you can settle a little debate between my friend and I,” she smiled, attractive and clearly looking for company. “We’re at a stalemate you see,” she said, pouting plush red lips and leaning closer, “we disagree on the best whiskey.”</p><p>“Sorry,” Ron responded, trying not to be curt, “I can’t help you. I don’t drink whiskey.” He ignored her offended surprise, signaling to the other bartender. He would wait Lip out, all damned night if he had to. </p><p>The kid approached, throwing a confused look Lip’s way. “Hey,” he greeted with a wide grin, “you’re Speirs, right? Not with the guys tonight?”</p><p>That should have been obvious enough. Ron pulled out his wallet, not bothering with an answer. “Get me a coke.”</p><p>“Right. Sure.” </p><p>As the kid scampered to obey, Ron watched Lipton. He understood why the kid had looked at Lip in confusion. From the very first moment Ron had walked into the bar, Lip had been the one who welcomed him, who took his drinks, who smiled at him even as he chatted with the other officers and who was on hand for whatever Ron needed. He’d taken it for granted, and it left a knot in his gut to see him now, smiling and exchanging pleasantries with others -- ignoring him completely. All right, he deserved that, but he wasn’t leaving before speaking with Lip, so he took the drink the kid plopped in front of him and made himself comfortable.</p><p>Men and women filed in and out. The bar sat nearly empty one hour and was packed the next. He and another man were the two constants sitting at the bar. Two more women approached him and Ron politely discouraged them -- though maybe he could have been a bit more judicious about it given their dismayed expressions when they walked away. His phone vibrated in his pocket and he pulled it out to look at the number. Luz. How the hell had Luz gotten his personal number? He answered with, “Is someone dying or in imminent danger?”</p><p>“What? No--”</p><p>Ron clicked the End button and shoved the phone back in his pocket. It was then opportunity presented itself. Lipton moved out from behind the bar, heading to what looked like a back office. Speirs stood hastily and followed. “Lipton!” he called, just as Lip’s hand twisted the doorknob. </p><p>The man froze and looked back, a battle waging behind his eyes. He could go inside, close the door and screw Ron over. Ron could practically see him thinking it, but after a brief moment of indecision, he blew out a sharp breath and pushed open the door, jerking his head for the other man to follow. </p><p>The noise from the televisions blaring outside was muted in the small office cum storage room. Ron stepped further inside, skirting boxes of alcohol piled high in the corner of the room. Most of the remaining space was taken up by a large desk and three chairs. The blades of an old fan on its last legs spun creakily in the stuffy room.</p><p>Lip turned to face him, arms crossed. “What can I do for you?” he asked reluctantly. </p><p>Ron cleared his throat, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I came to apologize,” he began gruffly. “I was a complete asshole to you the other day and you … you don’t deserve anyone treating you that way.”</p><p>Lip shrugged. “You’re not the first asshole I’ve dealt with. Was that all?” He moved behind the desk, taking a seat, and began flipping through several papers. </p><p>Ron’s heart began to pound in his ears -- adrenaline surging -- and his throat became a desert. As much as he knew he’d fucked up … he wasn’t ready for Lipton to dismiss them. To wipe away any and all possibilities of there being a them. His jaw worked and he took a calming breath. “Lipton.” That cool gaze rose to meet his giving no quarter. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything I said. It was stupid and thoughtless. I treated what we--” He stopped, unable to say it in the face of that icy silence. “I’m sorry.”</p><p>Lip looked away, regret crossing his features. He glanced down at the papers in his hands as though he’d forgotten about them. “I believe you,” he said softly, not looking at the other man. “I believe you’re sorry for what you said, but,” he took a breath, “but you said it. And you’re right,” his fingers tightened, crinkling the papers, “I don’t deserve that.”</p><p>Ron swallowed. His hands curled into fists, but there was nothing to fight here. He couldn’t -- he wouldn’t -- continue to insist on forcing himself on Lipton if the man wanted nothing to do with him. He respected boundaries. He wouldn’t let himself turn into one of those pieces of shit who didn’t know how to take no for an answer. Yes, he regretted what he’d said and he wished he could go back and shove those ugly words back down his goddamned throat but life didn’t work that way. He nodded and stepped back. “Anything I can do?” he asked quietly. “No strings, I just -- if I can help … .”</p><p>Those beautiful brown eyes he’d fallen into, practically from the first day, looked into his own sadly. A too bright sheen made them glimmer. “You can leave,” Lip answered steadily. “I’d rather not see you again.”</p><p>Ron stood there for another minute, watching that bowed head. He’d fucked this up, too. The one thing that had given him hope after months of--. It didn’t matter. Lipton deserved better than a wreck like him. His presence would only continue to hurt the other man. It was painful to remember Lip’s shy, flushed glances now, now when there was no hope of seeing them again. “All right. Thank you for giving me some of your time.” He turned and walked out, closing the door softly behind himself.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Cornbread and Cops</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The moment the door closed behind the police officer, Lip dropped the papers -- they were blank order forms for heaven’s sake -- and began organizing the haphazard stacks of documents scattered throughout the room. When that was completed, he grabbed a rag and set to dusting and cleaning the disaster of an office like a man possessed. </p><p>“Lip?” Toye called, giving the door a quick knock before pushing it open. The man blinked, looking around. “This is the best I’ve ever seen it look in here.” He frowned. “Everything okay?” </p><p>“Fine. How’s it going out there?”</p><p>“It’s starting to pick up and Web’s getting that prissy look on his face,” he said, leaning his hip on the desk. “I saw that cop -- Speirs,” he added abruptly. “Looked like someone had kicked his puppy.”</p><p>Carwood finished labeling the last crate and stood. “I’ll give David a hand. Can you get these into the fridge?” He didn’t wait for an answer before walking out. There were a few people at the bar but nothing like their Friday or Saturday night crowds. Still, he hopped behind the bar and helped with drink orders, smiling pleasantly at the customers, shaking his head when they tried to buy him drinks. It was the same song and dance and it kept him busy enough that he could avoid thinking. </p><p>At closing time, he counted the cash, filled out the cash-intake sheet, tallied the credit and debit card totals, filed everything away for the next day and locked up the money. Lastly, he turned off the lights and locked the office door, throwing on a long-sleeved shirt over his undershirt. “Joe,” he greeted as he stepped out of the bar. “I’ve told you, you don’t need to wait for me.”</p><p>Joe put out his cigarette and shrugged. “I don’t like leaving you alone. Might give someone ideas.”</p><p>It was an old argument so Carwood let it go. He walked to his car with his escort, waved goodnight and drove home on autopilot. The porch light was on as always. He flicked it off after getting inside and climbed the stairs quietly, trying not to wake his mama. She was a light sleeper. It was strange, being back in the house in which he’d grown up. The stairs creaked the same way and the tree by his bedroom window still tapped on the pane on windy days. </p><p>He kicked off his shoes and grabbed a towel. It was a muggy night and he wanted the cool pounding of water in his ears and on his body to help keep his mind perfectly blank. He’d been carefully thinking of nothing all night long, all through his shift and the clean-up and the closing and the drive home. </p><p>Unfortunately, not thinking didn’t work once his back hit the mattress. He had nothing to do except think. Speirs. Toye had called him Speirs. Carwood’s lips twitched in sour amusement. That was apt, wasn’t it? Carwood had felt he’d been run through with one after their little exchange. He sighed, turning onto his side. Speirs hadn’t done anything unforgivable, really, not in the grand scheme of things, but Carwood was sick of the drunks who thought alcohol was an excuse to act like dregs of humanity. He’d believed Speirs above all of that. To have been proven wrong had been …</p><p>He pressed his hands hard over his eyes until they hurt, until he could see spots behind his eyelids. He had to sleep. Tomorrow he’d promised his mama to take her shopping before his shift and he wanted to repair the leaky faucet in the kitchen. He’d wake up early and head to the local hardware store and the bank. They should have the … the …. His eyelids became too heavy to keep open and he let himself drift into an uneasy sleep.</p><p>*****</p><p>At eleven in the morning, Lip was in the hardware store when his cell phone rang. The number was the bank’s. He answered immediately, heart in his throat. </p><p>“Hello?”</p><p>“Mr. Lipton?” </p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“I have some good news.” Lip didn’t let himself feel relief, he could hear the <em>but</em> in the man’s voice. “The lienholder has agreed to accept your payment.” Carwood nearly snorted, like <em>the lienholder</em> was someone else and not the bank itself. “Your mother will be allowed to remain in the home,” Lip swallowed hard, his throat tightening, “however,” of course, of course there was a proviso, “the lienholder will require the additional ten thousand dollars within a thirty day period.”</p><p>Lip leaned against the shelf, heart rabbiting in his chest. “Ten?” he repeated faintly. “I don’t have ten thousand dollars. I gave the bank every last cent I had. I thought I would be allowed to keep making monthly payments.”</p><p>The man on the other end sighed like he was deeply affected. “I’m sorry but that was never a stipulation. The agreement was that ten thousand dollars would be paid after the initial fifteen thousand dollars. It was never written into the contract that it would be in payments.”</p><p>Carwood closed his eyes for a moment, thinking desperately. “What can I do?” he asked. “That’s my mother’s home. It’s been her home for more than thirty years. My father built it for her.”</p><p>“I sympathize,” the man said impatiently, “which is why I agreed to deal with you and leave your mother out of this. I understand that she's been unwell and you don’t want to worry her, but the fact is, she took out a lien and has not fully paid the bank back. The payments she was making weren't enough to cover even the interest. The bank could have easily taken her house but we didn’t. We’re simply asking that she pay the loan money back, with the agreed-upon interest.”</p><p>Yes, they were so understanding they’d lent money to an elderly woman on disability without ever explaining how the exorbitant interest would guarantee she’d have no hope of paying it back. Lip dug his nails into his palm to keep from saying something that would assure the man would no longer be willing to deal with him. </p><p>Ten thousand dollars. He had three hundred dollars in his bank account, and nothing in the way of property he could hock. Well … he glanced outside, there was one thing. “I’ll have the money,” he said quietly and disconnected. How much was his car worth? Not ten thousand dollars. Maybe eight if he was very, very lucky. Well, he’d come up with something. In the meantime, he’d made a promise to his mother. </p><p>She was in the kitchen when he got home, fixing lunch. “Carwood, you’re back just in time.” She indicated the chair at the table and set down a plate heaped with food -- potato salad, cornbread and fried chicken. </p><p>Carwood shook his head and kissed her temple before taking a seat. “I can't eat all this, Mama. You always make enough to feed an army.”</p><p>She untied her apron and sat with him with her own plate. “Habit, I suppose,” she said with a wistful smile, “you and your father and brother needed a lot of feeding.” She smiled at him. “And speaking of your brother, did you know he plans to visit for his break?” She nodded excitedly at his look of surprise. “He’s been studying so hard. It’ll be nice to have him with us, won’t it?” </p><p>“Yes, of course.”</p><p>His mother sobered suddenly, her smile becoming strained. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t help you with your schooling--”</p><p>Lip’s head jerked up, dismayed. “Mama, you have absolutely nothing for which to apologize. You’ve always done the best you could for us.” He stood and went around the table, pulling her into a hug. “Please don’t say things like that. Now,” he said, wiping the silent tears tracking down her cheeks, “why don’t we finish eating and we’ll go shopping?”</p><p>“Are you sure you have time, Carwood? You’re so busy. I don’t want you to put yourself out.” </p><p>Carwood covered her hand and squeezed. “It’s not a problem, mama. I promise I have time.” He smiled and sat back down, tucking into his food, enjoying his lunch with the woman who mattered most to him, pushing everything else aside.</p><p>*****</p><p>There was a crowd of cops outside the bar when Carwood pulled into the vacant parking lot. That would be a lot more worrisome if he didn’t know them and they weren’t sheepishly grinning and waving at him. He parked and approached them, eyebrows raised in question. “It’s a little early to start drinking, boys,” he told them as he unlocked the door. “Bar’s not even open yet.” They trailed him inside, silent, strangely subdued. They looked like scolded schoolboys. “All right, somebody better start talking because I’m beginning to worry,” he said, turning and crossing his arms.</p><p>Luz stepped forward, shoulders hunched slightly. “We just wanted to apologize for acting like dicks the other night, Lip. We’re really, really, <em>really</em> sorry,” he stated, weirdly emphatic.</p><p>“<em>Really,</em>” another of the men threw in from behind.</p><p>The rest of them nodded, looking duly contrite. Well, all but Liebgott who looked more like he was suffering from constipation. Guarnere elbowed him in the ribs and Lieb rolled his eyes and nodded as well. “Yeah, Lip,” Bill confirmed. “We’re sorry.”</p><p>They stared at him like they were waiting for something and finally he sighed. “Your behavior was reprehensible. I expect better from you,” he told them in no uncertain terms. “I’m disappointed in you boys.”</p><p>Eight heads hung in shame and Grant groaned. “Christ, even my parents don’t give me guilt trips like this. Lip, we promise it won’t happen again. We SWEAR it. So can you please, <em>please</em> tell Lieutenant Speirs we apologized and you forgive us? <em>Please</em>?” he implored. </p><p>“Yeah, Lip,” Babe agreed, nodding wide-eyed, “you have to tell him. We don’t need him to come back trying to kill us all. He never forgets a grudge.” He leaned close to Lip, whispering like he expected the man to pop out from behind the bar, “Three months ago, we pissed him off and he made us run death sprints for two weeks. He told the brass they were <em>team-building exercises</em>.”</p><p>“Okay.” Carwood waited, confused. “I don’t--” he shook his head. “I don’t understand. What does any of that have to do with me?”</p><p>A few of them exchanged glances, frowning and Guarnere sighed, shaking his head. “See, boys, I told you he was clueless. Just sayin’,” he muttered, shrugging, at Lipton’s glare. “Look, let’s just say we have it on good authority that Speirs may murder us for acting like douchey college frat boys on spring break. Now, personally, I could take him,” he declared arrogantly, ducking a few flying hands and ignoring the cries of disbelief and yells of <em>then why’d you come with us?!</em>  “but these guys are about shitting themselves, so I figured if we apologized, maybe you could talk to him for us? Get him to lay off?”</p><p>Carwood nearly laughed. Grown men -- cops at that -- were terrified of Speirs? It made no sense. The man was always so quiet and polite. So unassuming. The idea that he could strike fear into the hearts of the likes of Luz and Guarnere was ridiculous. </p><p>“So …?” Heffron prompted, eyes beseeching. </p><p>Lip sighed and shook his head, stepping back behind the bar, mostly to put some space between them because he could feel himself wanting to cave. Wanting the excuse to-- “No, I can’t help you, boys. Take your punishment and behave yourselves next time. Now, out. I have work to do.”</p><p>They filed out quietly, obediently, throwing sorrowful glances over their shoulders. Carwood steeled himself against them and busied himself behind the bar, clearing out empty bottles. The clink of glass wasn’t loud enough to mask the deep sigh as the door closed behind the last man. Carwood shook his head at their absurd antics and went to lock the door behind them. </p><p>He had two hours before Web was due to show up. Best get started on that paperwork.</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. It's Not All Margaritas and Drinks With Tiny Umbrellas</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for the comments!  😍</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ron yanked on the tape, tearing off a strip and sealed the final box. He labeled it and tossed it on top of the others in the living room. That more-or-less did it as far as packing the non-essentials. His winter clothes were boxed up, most of the dishes, books, movies, extra sheets and towels and anything else that he didn’t absolutely need. Not like he got much by way of visitors anyway. Three plates, a few forks, knives and spoons would be more than enough for just him. </p><p>He grabbed a beer from the fridge and twisted the top off, taking a seat on his couch, pressing the cool glass against his forehead. Felt damned good after a long day. He downed about half of it with one pull, eyeing the pile of boxes. It was probably too damned early to start packing, not like he’d found another place yet, but there were three promising homes he’d made an appointment to look at the next day. </p><p>He let his head drop onto the back of the couch and absently picked at the label on the bottle. Buying a house was a hell of a big step. A hell of a commitment, especially considering that he’d been with the department just under a year. He liked his coworkers though. Winters, Welsh, Compton -- all of ‘em were solid and tough as nails when the chips were down. He appreciated that. And the others, at least the ones under his command, were good men. He could see himself sticking around for the long run here. It was as good a place as any to call home.</p><p>The sounds of hushed conversation and closing doors from downstairs drifted on the warm breeze through his open window as the radio crackled to life again. </p><p>
  <em>Thirty-two to base.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Thirty-two, go ahead, base.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Thirty-two, report of a ten ninety-six at Garfield and Third. Male in his underwear walking down the middle of the road.</em>
</p><p>Ron smirked at the pause before Heffron acknowledged.</p><p><em>Ten-four</em>. The kid sounded dispirited. Yeah, Ron didn’t envy him that one. <em>En route</em>. </p><p>Go get ‘im, kid, he thought silently. He downed the rest of the beer and rubbed at his eyes, stifling a yawn. Yeah, all right, time to stop listening to his radio like some sad sack who couldn’t put boundaries between his work and home life. It was almost one in the morning -- he needed to get to sleep. His finger was descending on the power button when the radio burst to life again.</p><p><em>Twenty-two to base</em>. Renee sounded a lot sharper on the radio this time and Ron’s finger paused.</p><p><em>Twenty-two</em>, Guarnere acknowledged. </p><p>
  <em>Twenty-two, report of a ten-ten at Currahee on Washington and Green Heights. Three or four males assaulting the staff. Possible weapons involved. The RP advised she believes she saw one of them get stabbed.</em>
</p><p><em>En route</em>, Guarnere responded tightly.</p><p><em>Twenty-eight en route</em>, he heard Liebgott bark, the sound of sirens already blaring in the background. </p><p>
  <em>Twenty-six en route.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Forty-four en route.</em>
</p><p>Ron already had his gun in hand and was running for the door. He grabbed his keys and sprinted to his cruiser, peeling out of the parking lot, sirens wailing. <em>No. No. Not Lipton. Please not Lipton.</em> </p><p>The streets were relatively empty at that time of night and Ron pressed harder on the accelerator and the Mustang jumped to one-hundred and twenty. The brass would have his ass if they knew. He was pushing his luck, but at least he didn’t have to worry about stop signs or traffic lights on the highway. </p><p>He made it to the bar in a record ten minutes, brakes squealing as he slammed to a stop practically at the front door just in time to see Liebgott bolt out of his car and dash through the front door, weapon drawn. Ron was right behind him even as more units appeared. </p><p>******</p><p>Rowdiness was par for the course of working at a bar. Carwood expected a certain amount of rambunctiousness -- after all, people didn’t go to a bar to behave the way they would in church. But it still took him aback when three men jumped the bar and piled onto Webster. </p><p>He leapt the short distance between them and threw one of them off the kid, shoving him back across the bar with a right hook that caught him under the jaw. The man flopped over onto one of the patrons who screamed and dodged back. Another drunk took advantage of the situation and clambered over to grab a bottle of whiskey and run off. Carwood paid him no mind. He turned to deal with the two still pounding on David but just then one of the men turned and shoved a fist into his kidney that had him doubling over in pain. He straightened, coughing, and managed to mostly dodge the next punch but the guy’s ring glanced off his cheek, cutting him near the ear. Carwood ducked the guy’s left fist and caught him under the chin just as his buddy regained mobility and was making to leap over the bar again. He didn’t get the chance. Joe came barreling through the onlookers -- some screaming, others cheering -- and proceeded to beat the man into a whimpering pulp and shove a knee into the guy’s back to keep him pinned. Carwood dodged another punch but he wasn’t fast enough to dodge the bottle the guy chucked at his head. It connected with a sickening thud that blackened out his vision for a second. More blood trickled down his face but he ignored it and darted forward punching once, twice, three, four times until the guy went down hard, smacking his head against the edge of the bar for good measure and knocking himself unconscious. </p><p>In the meantime, Web had managed to grab a bottle and bring it down on his attacker’s head, knocking him off. They both leapt to their feet. That’s when Lip stopped breathing and his blood drained from his face. It happened so quickly. The drunken idiot pulled out a knife and lunged as Web scrambled backward. </p><p>Carwood didn’t even realize he was moving until he felt the line of fire on his arm. </p><p>“Lip!”</p><p>He didn’t have time to look at Web. He lunged forward and grappled with the man for control of the knife. He’d done some wrestling in high school so he immediately took the guy to the ground, arm across his windpipe, choking him out. He pressed a little harder, cutting off the desperate gasps for air as the guy raked his nails down Lipton’s forearm. He held him until the guy dropped, unconscious. </p><p>“Jesus,” Web groaned, clutching his ribs. “Lip, are you all right?” he demanded. Carwood knew the moment the kid spotted the blood running in rivulets down his arm. He paled and swayed on his feet. “Oh Christ, he stabbed you!” the boy cried stumbling forward as Lip stood, shoving a rag onto Lipton’s bleeding arm and pressing down. Hard. </p><p>Carwood bit his lip against a yelp, panting, trying to get his breath back.</p><p>“I called nine one one!” a woman yelled. Lip glanced up, leaning against the bar. Shocked faces looked back at him. There was a break in the music and for a second the only sound was that of steadily dripping alcohol from the broken bottles and the cursing of the man Toye held down. Then everyone began talking at once. It was then that the door flew open and slammed into the plaster wall so hard the bar collectively jumped. </p><p>“ON THE GROUND!” Liebgott yelled, weapon drawn. “GET ON THE GROUND!!”</p><p>Jesus, he hadn’t even heard the sirens. The kid looked absolutely terrifying, an expression Lip had never seen on his face before and at that moment he knew without a doubt that Lieb was capable of pulling that trigger. Carwood’s father had owned a hunting rifle, but no gun had ever looked half as intimidating as Liebgott’s Sig Sauer. Lip found his eyes staring down the barrel of the semi-automatic handgun, almost expecting the flash and bang followed by a bullet tearing into his flesh. </p><p>He was about to get down -- almost everyone else had already dropped face-first, though a few still swayed on their feet, too drunk to understand what was happening -- when the door flew open again. Carwood met Speirs’s eyes across the room in something like shock and he gasped, going boneless in relief. </p><p>On Speirs’s heels were more of the boys and he left them to deal with the patrons as he blew past Liebgott. “Lipton, are you hurt!?”</p><p>Lip slid down onto his ass, unable to keep standing another moment. </p><p>“Lipton!” Speirs vaulted over the bar and landed at his side. “Fuck,” he bit out, seeing the gore. “Fuck. Liebgott! Call for an ambulance! You’re okay, Lipton,” he murmured, gripping Carwood’s shoulder. “You’re going to be just fine.”</p><p>The room swam out of focus before he got his bearings again. Speirs really was there. He hadn’t dreamed him up. </p><p>“Webster!” Liebgott called tightly. Carwood looked over at the boy. He wasn’t obviously hurt -- he wasn’t bleeding too much at any rate -- but he looked shell-shocked. “Answer me goddammit!”</p><p>That seemed to snap the kid out of his stupor and he swallowed, “I’m okay, Joe. I’m okay.” He was shaky but standing.</p><p>"Lipton, where are you hurt?" Speirs grasped his arm, fingers gentle, cautious. "Were you stabbed?" He examined the sliced fleshy part of his arm as Lip gritted his teeth to keep from crying out. </p><p>"No," he gasped out when he could coordinate his lips and tongue again. "Just nicked my arm."</p><p>Speirs frowned, fingers tenderly brushing Carwood's hair back to look at the gash on his head. </p><p>The man Lip had knocked out groaned just then and began to move feebly. Speirs’s head jerked toward him, expression turning savage. Carwood had never seen anything like it before. One moment, Speirs looked almost afraid and the next … it was like he did not recognize the huddled, groaning mass at their feet as a human being. Speirs shifted and that’s when Lip noticed the gun in his hand. It should have been chilling -- he was almost certain for a moment that Speirs meant to shoot the offender -- but Carwood couldn’t find it in himself to be afraid of him. </p><p>Speirs stood, glaring down at the man, hand curling into a fist. After several moments of worrying indecision, he simply grabbed the guy and unceremoniously threw him over the bar to crash down onto the stools and broken glass on the other side. His pained moans were mostly drowned out by the thump of Queen over the speakers. “Take care of this piece of shit,” Speirs growled to Guarnere who’d already cuffed Toye’s man. The other patrons were slowly standing now at the prompting of the other boys now that things seemed to be under control.</p><p>Carwood got to his feet as well. His arm hurt like nobody’s business, but he was relieved to see the bleeding had slowed. Even the pain of the cut on his temple had died down to a sting. That was a relief, though he still leaned on the bar for a moment to steady himself, shaky. That was mostly reaction to the unexpectedness of the whole thing. He glanced at David who was now leaning on Liebgott, trembling. “Toye,” he called a little hoarsely, “shut that music off, will you?”</p><p>It was almost worse with the music turned off. The screech of sirens outside cut the night like a knife and the flashing reds and blues bathed the interior of the bar through the open door -- was it hanging off its hinges? -- and glanced off customers’ faces like it was a ghoulish dance club.</p><p>“Lipton,” Speirs was frowning at him, concerned. Had he been calling him? “How are you holding up?” </p><p>Carwood’s tongue felt leaden in his mouth. He swallowed with difficulty. “Fine. Maybe a little shaken,” he admitted, seeing that knife lunging at David again. That could have been bad. He glanced at the kid, glad to see some color returning to his face. He was definitely hurting though, and he had several red marks on his face that were likely going to bloom into colorful bruises come morning. </p><p>He exhaled sharply, relief hitting him with the force of a tidal wave. Thank God. Thank God no one had been seriously hurt. Well, except for the men responsible, he amended mentally, hearing moans and sobbing. He was grateful that Speirs chose that moment to put a tentative arm around his waist, careful of his injuries to help keep him upright. “Is this all right?” he asked, softly, self-consciously. </p><p>Lip nodded tightly. "It's Carwood, by the way," he told the other man, still pressing the towel to his arm. "Carwood Lipton. Nice to meet you."</p><p>Speirs's hand tightened and he laughed unsteadily, breathing his own sigh of relief against Carwood's temple. "Ronald Speirs. Ron," he introduced himself just as the EMTs walked in. "It's nice to meet you, too."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>10-96 = crazy person<br/>10-10 = fight</p><p>Units identify themselves by their assigned # over the radio and (in smaller towns) take their police vehicles home with them. Ten codes can vary by state and agency. Just fun little bit of info.</p><p>And, umm ... sorry? 😬</p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. One Step Forward</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Carwood almost resented the arrival of the EMTs as Speirs stepped away and pushed him to sit on a stool as two of them made a beeline for him. He bore it stoically as the woman looked him over, peeling away the towel and poking and prodding at his arm. “You’re lucky,” she told him, cheerfully -- yeah, he always counted himself fortunate after taking a knife to the arm -- “it could have been much worse.” </p><p>Lip sighed. Yes, he knew that was true, had been thinking the same thing just a few minutes ago, but it was harder to be sanguine about the whole thing when his head was beginning to pound. “Right,” he murmured, starting to feel the ache of the hits he’d taken. “Thank you,” he added as she wrapped a makeshift bandage. </p><p>“Not a problem. Can you walk to the ambulance?”</p><p>Carwood had no intention of going to a hospital and he told her as much. He’d been feeling favorable to Speirs for the last five minutes, so, naturally, that was the moment they had to be at odds again. The man suddenly loomed at his shoulder, green eyes unamused. “You’re going. I’ll have them bring the stretcher, wait here--”</p><p>Uh, yeah, that was a definite and resounding <em>No</em>. Carwood snagged Speirs’s wrist as he started to walk away. “I’m not getting in an ambulance.”</p><p>Wow, Lip had never seen anyone have an aneurysm before, but it looked like Speirs was gearing up for one. Good thing there were EMTs on scene. “I don’t think I heard you correctly,” he said softly, making a concerted effort to keep calm. </p><p>Across the bar, Toye frowned over at him. “Lip,” he said seriously, “don’t be stupid. You’re hurt.”</p><p>“I’m not arguing that--”</p><p>“Good, let’s go,” Speirs interrupted, snagging his arm. </p><p>Lip dug in his heels and refused to budge. “No.”</p><p>“Not acceptable,” Speirs growled, making the EMTs edge away from him.</p><p>Lipton frowned back. “It’s not your call, Lieutenant.” </p><p>Of course Speirs would take that as a challenge. “Get him on that ambulance,” Speirs ordered the EMTs who glanced at one another uneasily. </p><p>Carwood planted himself firmly in front of Speirs, arms crossed -- ouch -- and said through clenched teeth. “I. AM. NOT. GOING.”</p><p>Speirs’s eyes narrowed. It was obvious he wasn’t used to being questioned. Well, too bad because Lip wasn’t simply going to let him play dictator. </p><p>Toye grinned and braced his arms against the bar, looking highly amused. “You tell ‘im, Lip.”</p><p>The officer paused in his attempt at staring Lip down and turned to Toye. “You his friend?”</p><p>Toye shrugged. “Sure,” he replied easily. </p><p>“Then maybe you should be more worried about the fact that he’s bleeding and could have easily lost an eye,” he bit back. He reached out and grasped Carwood’s chin, forcing him to turn his head. </p><p>Joe straightened and swore. Colorfully. “Goddamnit, Lip! I asked you if you were okay,” he hissed, stomping toward them and inspecting the cut himself. </p><p>“I <em>am</em> okay,” he repeated, exasperated. He pushed away from them both and pointed at Speirs. “All right, you and I have to talk. Back room. Now.”</p><p>“My pleasure,” the man agreed grimly and the room itself seemed to finally breathe as he stormed away.</p><p>“Lip,” Toye began warningly.</p><p>Carwood held up a hand to stop him. “I can take care of myself.” Speirs acted like a complete jerk and now he wanted to order Lipton around? Not happening. He pushed the door closed behind himself and said, before Speirs could open his mouth, “Firstly, you don’t have the authority to force me to go to a hospital against my will.”</p><p>Umm, he didn’t, right? Lip’s palms grew a bit damp when Speirs’s lip curled in a dark grin. He cocked his hip against the newly organized desk and waited for Lip to continue. His silence was unnerving. And of course, he knew that. Arrogant jerk. </p><p>Carwood continued. “Secondly, I’m not just being stubborn.” He looked away, ashamed, though he knew there was nothing shameful in it. “I can’t afford to go to a hospital right now, okay?” He forced himself to meet the other man’s gaze, pretending his cheeks weren’t flushed. “And I definitely can’t afford to take an ambulance to a hospital.” He didn’t like saying it, but he said it and held his head high. </p><p>Speirs uncrossed his arms and shook his head. “Really? You couldn’t just lead with that?”</p><p>Lip frowned at him. “It’s not any of your business.”</p><p>“It is today. You’re getting medical help.” He ignored Lipton’s ever-more irritated objections and pulled out his phone. “Hey. You home?” he listened for a second and grunted. “Got a job for you. Can you be home in,” he glanced at his watch, “fifteen?” Carwood stopped to listen, curious. “See you then.” He raised an eyebrow in question and Speirs shrugged. “I know a doctor. He’ll take care of you, no emergency room, no questions.”</p><p>“Somehow you make having a doctor friend seem incredibly shady,” he observed idly, mostly because he couldn’t think of anything else to say. Speirs was taking him to his buddy who could stitch him up? Was Carwood allowing it? </p><p>He wasn’t given much time to think about it. Speirs held open the door and jerked his head at the exit for Carwood to follow. So Carwood did. They crossed the bar -- it was crawling with even more cops -- and several patrons glanced their way. A few regulars called out to Lip, asking if he was all right. Lip waved at them and nodded but kept walking. Speirs yelled some instructions to the other officers and led Lip outside with a firm hand on his shoulder. Lip pretended he couldn't feel its warmth through his thin white t-shirt. At least he wasn’t wearing only an undershirt this time.</p><p>He was mostly following Speirs on autopilot, but he hesitated when they reached the man’s cruiser. “I’m responsible for locking up.” The words were reflex. It didn't look like things were getting wrapped up any time soon in the bar. Customers were still being interviewed. </p><p>“Give me the keys. Toye will take care of it,” Speirs said with finality. Just like that. Like he controlled everyone and everything. Lipton would have been incensed at the hubris of such sweeping presumptions but, honestly, he couldn't help but feel a glimmer of unwilling admiration for Speirs’s authoritarianism. So he shrugged and handed over the keys, and stepped outside. Let the man deal with it. It would be fine, Joe knew what to do and Lip trusted him.</p><p>“Let’s go,” Speirs said, coming back out. He jerked his head to his cruiser and Lip followed. </p><p>The shivering started in the car. For a moment, Carwood actually thought he was cold until he remembered that it was nearly eighty degrees. The realization did nothing to stop his trembling, if anything, it got worse. </p><p>Speirs climbed in the car and frowned over at him. Lipton’s shakes grew worse, so much so that he could practically hear the man’s bones rattling. He grabbed a blanket from the trunk of the car, handing it to Lip and cranked the heater to full blast despite the warm night. In seconds, Ron was sweating, but Carwood was still shivering. </p><p>Lip wrapped the blanket around his shoulders. “I-I-I d-d-on’t kn-n-ow w-what’s--”</p><p>“You’re crashing from the adrenaline,” Speirs informed him, matter of fact. “It’s normal, but it can be unnerving if you’ve never experienced it before. You may also be going into shock,” he added, foreboding. </p><p>Carwood shook his head, denying, and Ron sighed. “Right, let’s get you to the doc.” He threw the car in gear, peeling out of the parking lot and sending Carwood scrambling for his seatbelt. Must be nice not to have to obey speed limits, he thought uncharitably, through chattering teeth.</p><p>Speirs threw him a cocky grin like he’d heard the thought and floored it. </p><p>*****</p><p>Carwood didn’t have any expectations of the sort of place at which a doctor might live, but he was surprised when they pulled up to a rather sad-looking, industrial-type brick and steel apartment complex with peeling paint, cracked pavement and empty, overgrown lots to either side, not far from a train yard. It looked … derelict. This was where the doctor lived?</p><p>“Come on,” Speirs said, unconcerned as he hopped out of the vehicle. He led the way to the front gate and pushed it open. </p><p>Cleary tenants’ security wasn’t a major concern of the landowner’s.</p><p>“Watch your step.”</p><p>Lip glanced down and spotted dozens of potted plants arranged throughout the lobby in the dim lighting. “Someone likes to garden.”</p><p>Speirs glanced over his shoulder as he began to climb the stairs. “Several of them do, I think.”</p><p>Carwood looked around one more time and squinted into the corner. Was that a … marijuana plant? Yes, it was. He breathed out a laugh. They must not have been too worried about Speirs busting their chops if they had it out in the open. </p><p>The doctor lived on the third floor and Speirs knocked briskly when they got there. The door swung open and a young, beautiful man opened the door. Lip’s eyes widened in surprise. Wow. “Lieutenant Speirs,” he greeted in a low southern accent -- Lip couldn’t quite place it -- that reminded him of honey, all mellow and sweet. Dark eyes lit on Lipton and he held out a hand. “Eugene Roe, and you are?” </p><p>“Carwood Lipton, it’s a pleasure,” he responded, shaking the man’s hand. The apartment was brightly lit and clean if a little sparse. Lip smiled when a ginger cat dashed out from under the blue sofa and wrapped itself around his legs. “Hey there, what’s your name?”</p><p>“Dick,” Roe threw over his shoulder as he disappeared into another room. </p><p>“... I’m sorry?” he managed, strangled. He wasn’t sure if he was amused or scandalized. Speirs took one look at his face and chuckled. It startled Lip. Speirs looked like the type who took himself too seriously to ever laugh. </p><p>“It’s the cat’s name,” he explained. </p><p>Roe had returned and his confused expression cleared at that. “Oh,” he murmured, “yes, I suppose that would be strange. I named him after a friend.”</p><p>“Right.” Maybe going with Speirs had not been a good idea. He stepped back and it was then he noticed an anatomical model on the far end table. “Wait,” he said sharply, stepping closer to it. “Exactly what kind of doctor are you?”</p><p>Roe set his medical supplies on the coffee table and turned to glare at Speirs. “You didn’t tell ‘im?”</p><p>Speirs shrugged. “What’s it matter? You can get the job done.”</p><p>Lip rubbed his temples. “You brought me to a veterinarian?!” </p><p>“Stitches are stitches,” Speirs informed him cavalierly. </p><p>Roe shook his head in helpless exasperation and turned to Carwood. “Mr. Lipton, I would understand if you want to go, but I can help you up if you’ll let me.”</p><p>Speirs glanced at him, shrugging. “He’s fixed me up plenty.”</p><p>Roe side-eyed him. “That is not exactly a commendation.”</p><p>Oh, what the hell. Carwood shrugged mentally and stepped forward. It’d be better if he got stitches, it’d worry his mama less. So he sat and let the doc get to setting him to rights. It was quick work. Roe was competent and efficient. Between his silent work and Speirs’s silent oversight, Carwood found himself talking more than he was accustomed, telling them amusing stories of his time as a bartender. It passed the time pleasantly and he was surprised to find he liked the somewhat reticent men’s company. </p><p>“You feeling less shaky?” Eugene asked quietly as he set aside his supplies. </p><p>Lip realized with some surprise that he felt much steadier and his shivering had stopped. “Yes, thank you very much, Mr. Roe,” he said wholeheartedly. “I appreciate it more than I can say. What do I owe you?”</p><p>Roe gave him a tired grin and shook his head. “You don’t owe me nothin’. And call me Gene. My friends do.”</p><p>“Gene then, there has to be something I can offer you. Let me repay you in some way.”</p><p>“Well,” Eugene drawled, leaning closer, impish gleam in his eyes, “you could owe me a date.”</p><p>Lip huffed, amused. It was clear to him that Roe was only teasing and he opened his mouth to call his bluff, but Speirs chose that moment to shove between them. “You done, Roe?” </p><p>Gene winked at Lip. “Just flirtin’ with a good-looking man,” he said, perfectly innocent, ignoring Speirs’s glower. “What’s the problem?”</p><p>“There isn’t one,” Ron denied smoothly, hauling Lipton to his feet and prodding him to move.</p><p>“Come by the bar,” Lip called out as Speirs herded him out the door, “I’ll treat you!” </p><p>The walk down the stairs was silent except for their ringing steps on metal as they descended. </p><p>“Where to?” Ron asked around a yawn when they were back in the car. He ran a hand through his hair, making it stand up at awkward angles and gave Lip a small grin. “Sorry, I must be getting old. I can’t do the night scene anymore.”</p><p>Lip smiled back, charmed despite himself. “Thank you, Ron,” he said, realizing he hadn’t thanked the man yet. That was definitely an oversight on his part. “I don’t know how I’ll ever pay you back for this.”</p><p>Speirs shook his head, grimacing. “There’s nothing to pay back. I’m a cop, remember? It comes with the job description.” Carwood glanced pointedly at the man’s civilian attire of jeans and t-shirt which Speirs ignored. “Is there someone who can stay with you tonight? Make sure you’re okay?”</p><p>“I’ll be fine. My car is at the bar--”</p><p>Ron snorted. “You’re not getting behind the wheel of a car tonight, Carwood.” He turned a deaf ear to Lip’s protests. “You didn’t answer my question. Is there someone who can stay with you tonight?”</p><p>“I don’t plan on sleeping so it doesn’t matter,” Carwood responded, very reasonably in his opinion. The officer seemed to disagree.</p><p>He shook his head, frowning unhappily. “I don’t wanna argue with you, but there is no way in hell I’m going to leave you alone. You heard what the doc said.” He swallowed, restively tapping his fingers against the steering wheel, unable to meet Lip’s eyes. “Look, if you don’t feel comfortable with me, I understand, but you can stay at my place if you want. You can take the bed,” he said, quickly like he didn’t want to give Carwood a chance to instantly reject his offer, “or the couch. I promise I will not bother you. Or,” inspiration struck, “I can take you to Luz’s place.” Carwood blinked but Ron kept going. “He likes you, he’d be happy to put you up. So would Winters, or, hell, any of the men. If I tell them--”</p><p>Carwood shook his head, chuckling outright at Speirs’s confused and ready-to-be-offended expression. “Ron, I appreciate you looking after me,” he told him, reaching over and squeezing the man’s hand. “And I trust you, but I’ll be fine.”</p><p>“You trust me?”</p><p>Carwood paused, giving it serious thought. “I do,” he said slowly, somewhat surprised himself. </p><p>Speirs nodded, relieved, and put the car in gear. “Okay, my place it is.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Doesn't Everyone Take Home Inebriated Bartenders?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The ride to Ron’s place was forty-five minutes. It should have been strange. Awkward. It wasn’t. The other man didn’t say much, but the quiet was soothing rather than stifling. Carwood blew out a sharp breath, the day -- the weeks -- catching up to him. Doc had given him something for the pain and he was feeling it now, floating on that high -- easy and loose. He would have to remember to call his mama in the morning so she didn’t worry. The thought was removed, and he closed his eyes, letting the motion of the car lull him. </p><p>“Don’t fall asleep,” Speirs warned, glancing at him.</p><p>“‘m not,” Lip murmured, half asleep already. </p><p>“Carwood.”</p><p>Lip blinked and realized that the car had stopped. Ron was standing next to his open door and they were parked at an apartment complex. </p><p>“Come on.” Speirs motioned to him and Lip followed blearily. </p><p>The small mountain of boxes in the living room was the first thing he noticed. Lip blinked at them. “Did you just move in?” </p><p>Speirs followed his gaze as he ejected the clip from his weapon and put the gun away. “No. I’m looking for a new place.” He moved into the kitchen and started opening and closing drawers as Lip glanced around curiously. The apartment was small and looked bare, but what there was was in its place with fearsome precision, neat and organized, if impersonal. “Coffee? Tea?” The man opened a few more drawers. “No, I don’t have tea. Coffee?”</p><p>“Should you be drinking coffee? Aren’t you sleeping?” he asked, leaning against the breakfast nook and watching Speirs flick on his coffee maker. </p><p>“No, I’m staying awake. I need to keep an eye on you.”</p><p>Carwood bit his lip, wondering at his willingness to bunk with Speirs for the night. “Right. Thank you,” he added a bit awkwardly. Too late to backtrack now. He was also pretty high so getting murdered wasn’t terribly far up on his list of concerns. </p><p>“How do you take it?” Ron asked, ignoring his words. He poured two cups and set them on the counter. </p><p>“Just sugar. And you don’t need to worry about waking me, I won’t be sleeping.” The words had barely left his lips when a yawn caught him by surprise.</p><p>Speirs snorted and set the sugar down in front of Carwood. “You can take the bed. I’ll set up on the couch.”</p><p>“Ron, I appreciate the offer, but I’m not turning you out of your bed,” he told the other man, adding a spoonful of sugar to his coffee. Diabetes schmiabetes.</p><p>Speirs only huffed. “You hungry?”</p><p>Carwood shook his head, covering yet another yawn. </p><p>“All right, come on.” Speirs took Carwood’s uninjured arm and pulled him off the stool. “You need sleep.”</p><p>Maybe he did, but he was still jarred and didn’t particularly want the loneliness of a strange bed. He twisted his arm out of Speirs’s hold and took his hand, stopping him. “Can we ...?” he motioned vaguely to the couch. “I’d rather not sleep just yet.”</p><p>Ron hesitated a moment before nodding. “Of course.” He sat and pulled Lip down next to him, not releasing his hand. “How’s the arm?”</p><p>“Still attached.”</p><p>Ron grinned, thumb stroking Lip’s palm. “There’s something to be said for that.”</p><p>Lip let his head drop back onto the sofa, body going boneless. This was nice, just this. Companionship, maybe friendship. “Mmm.” He blinked heavy eyes, trying to focus on Ron, determined not to fall asleep. “Do you make a habit of bringing home bartenders high on questionable medication?”</p><p>“At every opportunity.”</p><p>Lipton laughed and linked their fingers. He was rewarded with a nervous swallow from Speirs. It was unexpected and unexpectedly endearing. Carwood sighed and stopped fighting his exhaustion, shifting and curling onto his side on the wide sectional facing the back of the couch. The top of his head brushed Ron’s thigh and he heard Ron suck in a breath. After several beats of stillness, he felt tentative fingers brush over his hair, sweeping down to his ear and jaw. Lip murmured his approval. </p><p>“Who is our governor?” the other man asked, seemingly out of nowhere. </p><p>Carwood chuckled. “I don’t have brain damage.”</p><p>“Just checking.” Ron continued the easy caresses, fingers pausing at the edge of Carwood’s smile. “Tell me about yourself. Did you grow up in Huntington?”</p><p>Lip nodded. “Born and raised,” he confirmed. “I lived in Texas for several years before moving back here.”</p><p>“What did you do there?”</p><p>“Worked in the oil industry. I was saving up money to go to school.”</p><p>“Yeah? What did you study?”</p><p>There was a moment of silence -- Ron didn’t think he was imagining the discomfort -- before Lip replied, “Never did make up my mind.”</p><p>Carwood’s eyes had closed so it was impossible to read his expression. </p><p>“What about you?” he returned, changing the subject. “Are you a Huntington native?”</p><p>“No.” Ron continued to caress Carwood’s hair. “I’m not even a native American.”</p><p>Carwood blinked up at him in surprise. “Really? Where are you from?”</p><p>“Aye, Edinburgh, laddie” Ron answered in a thick Scottish accent, lips curving in amusement when Carwood’s eyes lit up.  </p><p>“You’re a Scot?” Carwood gave him a teasing grin. “That explains so much.”</p><p>“Och, yer aff yer heid.”</p><p>Carwood laughed softly, enchanted. He wanted to know more about Speirs, wanted to know everything, but his eyes were growing tired again. </p><p>Ron grinned down at him and his hand slipped over Carwood’s eyes, brushing his eyelids closed. “It’s all right. Sleep. We can talk tomorrow.” He listened as Carwood’s breaths slowly deepened. He couldn’t help but wonder at having the man in his home after he’d convinced himself that Carwood was beyond his reach. The fan of dark lashes against the softness of his cheeks contrasted starkly with the ugly cut and swelling there. Ron felt rage boiling in his veins anew at the sight but he forced himself to tamp it down. He stood and slowly, gently removed Carwood’s shoes, pulling his feet up onto the couch. The other man sighed but did not wake, and Ron grabbed a sheet to spread over him before taking up a book and settling next to Carwood again. </p><p>It wasn’t hard to stay awake, not with Lipton’s warmth so near. He wanted to stay awake to appreciate it, though he tried to reign in his thoughts, tried to keep from imagining where things might now lead. It was difficult with the other man lying so trustingly beside him. The hours passed and Ron checked on Carwood throughout the night. When the sky began lightening outside, he stood and drew the curtains shut tightly. </p><p>At nine, he showered, dressed and grabbed his keys, stepping out quietly. The little diner down the street had a decent breakfast and he wanted to make sure he had something for Carwood when he woke up.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Who needs friends with acquaintances like these</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The living room was mostly in shadow, but glimmers of sunlight snuck beneath the curtains to lovingly stripe Carwood’s skin golden where he lay curled up trustingly on Ron’s couch. He was breathing deeply, peacefully. The sight made something thrum with pleasure inside Ron. He could get used to that view. The thought had only just formed when Carwood stretched, groaning, and rubbed at his eyes. Ron was almost disappointed to see it. He would have liked for Carwood to get a full night’s sleep but he’d only slept -- he glanced at his watch -- four and a half hours. </p>
<p>He stepped further into the room, closing the door softly behind himself. The crinkle of the plastic bag made Carwood turn his head and Ron could see the exact second Carwood woke up all the way and registered that he wasn’t at home. He jackknifed up, startling Ron into nearly dropping the food. “Shit!” he grabbed for one bag that slipped out his hand, managing to catch it at an angle. At least the food was safe. </p>
<p>“Ron.” The tone was a bit strangled, disbelieving.</p>
<p>“Last I checked,” he agreed, wryly, straightening the bag. “You should go back to sleep if you can. Rest some more.”</p>
<p>Lip yawned but shook his head. “No, I’m fine.” He gave a sheepish grin. “Good morning.” </p>
<p>“It certainly is,” Ron agreed, unable to help the smile that stretched his own lips. “Best it’s been in a long time,” he confided, watching Carwood’s cheeks pinken. “Would you like to make it better?” Carwood raised a questioning brow and Ron held up the bags. “Eggs, bacon and pancakes.”</p>
<p>“Can’t argue with bacon,” Carwood conceded. He rose, pushing aside the sheet Ron had draped over him during the night and Ron turned away, not needing to see Carwood in itty bitty shorts that early in the morning. He didn’t think his heart could take it. He walked into the kitchen instead and opened up the styrofoam containers, hearing Carwood head off to the bathroom.</p>
<p>He set everything out and started the coffeemaker. </p>
<p>“Ron,” Carwood called as he came back, “may I--”</p>
<p>“Yes.” He glanced up at the bewildered silence. </p>
<p>“You don’t know what I’m going to ask.”</p>
<p>And it didn’t matter. Time to put all his cards on the table. “I don’t think it’ll be any great surprise to you that I like you, Carwood. Quite a bit. Saying no to you is not something I want to do, maybe not even something I can do.” He poured the coffee as Carwood blinked at him. “Try not to use that information for evil,” he joked as he held out a cup to the other man. “So, what can I do for you?”</p>
<p>Carwood unglued his fingers and took the cup, face flushed, uncertain how to respond. He swallowed, “Umm, may I use your phone?”</p>
<p>Ron handed it over without a word and listened -- it was impossible not to as Carwood didn’t leave the room -- while the other man assured his mother he was fine and that he was with a friend. </p>
<p>“No, Mama, he--. No--. You haven’t met him.” Carwood listened, face flushing and he refused to meet Ron’s eyes. “I don’t know that he’d like that,” Carwood hedged. “I can ask but--”</p>
<p>“I’d love to come to dinner, Mrs. Lipton,” he called loudly making Carwood jump and nearly drop the phone.</p>
<p>“Ron!” he hissed, placing his hand over the receiver and Ron raised an eyebrow. </p>
<p>“Do you not want me there?”</p>
<p>“That’s not the point--. What? No, Mama. It’s complicated. Yes, of course he’s a friend.” He placed his hand over the receiver again. “Ron, you really don’t need to--. I don’t know if he has allergies, Mama.” Lip sighed, exasperated and threw a helpless look at Ron. </p>
<p>“No allergies,” he supplied helpfully and Carwood glared at him. </p>
<p>Finally, he threw up a hand in surrender. “All right, Mama. Yes, I’ll let him know to come to dinner next week. Mmhm, I love you, too.” He disconnected the call with a sigh. “You’re coming to dinner next week and you only have yourself to blame so I don’t want to hear complaints.”</p>
<p>Ron grinned. “Wouldn’t dream of it. It’ll be an honor to join you and your mother.”</p>
<p>Carwood shook his head, but he was smiling. “Let’s not let breakfast get cold.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Somehow, the morning got away from them. Carwood had intended on being back home early, but between breakfast, clean-up, and talking, they lost track of time until Carwood glanced at his watch and all but leapt out of his seat. “I’m going to be late! I need to go.” </p>
<p>Ron stood as well and took his arm, stilling him. “Hey, what’s the rush?”</p>
<p>“I need to go pick up my car and head home to get ready.”</p>
<p>“Okay, no problem, but I can save you some time if I drive you straight home, then drive you wherever you need to go, right?”</p>
<p>Ron’s thumb caressed his elbow and goosebumps followed his touch. Carwood leaned into him, some of his tension easing. “You’d do that?”</p>
<p>The other man huffed, amused. “I’d do a hell of a lot more than that for you, Carwood,” he said easily, nonchalantly, striking Carwood mute again. </p>
<p>What could he say to that? He hadn’t ever known a man quite so … direct. Not when it came to the important things, not when it came to putting themselves in a vulnerable position. It was refreshing. </p>
<p>And a little terrifying. </p>
<p>“Okay,” he agreed after a pause. “All right. Thank you, Ron.”</p>
<p>“My pleasure. How’s the arm?” </p>
<p>Lip looked at the arm in question. “Looks worse than it feels.” The flesh around the cut was purpling and swollen, evident even around the edges of the bandage. </p>
<p>Ron raised his hand and his fingers gently traced the no doubt colorful bruise on his cheek. “You sure about that? Looks pretty bad.”</p>
<p>Carwood huffed a laugh and pushed the other man away. “Please tell me the department doesn’t use you to give pep talks.”</p>
<p>“Come on, let’s get going.”</p>
<p>They didn’t take the cruiser. Ron led the way to an older, small white pickup and unlocked Carwood’s side of the door. The stereo began to croon out a sweet, bluesy number as the engine turned over. “So where is it that you need to be?” Ron asked on a yawn. </p>
<p>Lip winced a bit guiltily. Ron probably shouldn’t be driving him anywhere, not after getting no sleep in the last twenty-four hours. “I work today--” he started, but he did not get the opportunity to finish.</p>
<p>“No, you don’t,” Ron negated immediately.</p>
<p>“I -- what? Of course I do. I’m heading in at three.”</p>
<p>Ron actually laughed. “Not happening. You are absolutely not going in to work today. Or tomorrow for that matter.”</p>
<p>Carwood grit his teeth, taking a deep breath and swallowed words he might regret. Ron glanced at him, expression steeled for Carwood’s reaction as they braked at a red light. “That is a hell of a highhanded attitude to take, you--”</p>
<p>“They’re your boss’s words, not mine,” Ron interrupted, before he could get more worked up. “Liebgott talked to the man this morning and he’s taking you and Webster off the schedule for the next few days.”</p>
<p>Dammit. Dammit. Carwood slumped back in the seat, the fight leaving him and stared out the window, fingers curling into fists. Of all the times for this to happen, the moment when he most needed money was the absolute worst. He couldn’t afford to lose work days. </p>
<p>The rest of the drive was silent as Carwood contemplated his options. Hopefully his boss would be at the bar and he could talk to him then, let him see for himself that Carwood was fine and could keep working. He ignored the glances Ron continued to throw at him. “You’re going aren’t you?” he asked, resigned. At Carwood’s continued silence, he sighed. “All right, I’ll drive you. Just try to remember that we want to help you, that’s all.”</p>
<p>It was hard to hold on to his indignation in the face of that gentle tone. “It’s just not a good time for me to miss work,” he said quietly. </p>
<p>Ron cut his gaze to him. “Okay. Want me to drive you straight there to talk to your boss?”</p>
<p>Carwood agreed. The man had to be there unless he planned on closing the bar entirely. The only current employees were Joe, David, Alley and Carwood himself. Wasn’t a lot of wiggle room. When Ron turned into the parking lot, he was there, having a drink in the patio under the shade of an umbrella, sunglasses concealing his eyes. He sat up when Carwood stepped out of the truck. </p>
<p>“Lip!” He stood and marched across the asphalt to meet him, incensed. “Where the hell have you been?! I went to your mother’s house for fuck’s sake! Are you all right?!” He shoved the glasses to the top of his head, tossing his drink aside and grabbed Carwood, shaking him lightly. “Why the hell did I have to hear from Web that you’d been hurt?! You should have called me yourself. I was worried about you, you asshole!”</p>
<p>“Oww, Nix, knock it off,” he grumbled, extricating himself, wincing at the pull of his stitches. “I didn’t have my cell phone and I didn’t go home, okay?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, that’s obvious!” the man huffed, glancing at his shorts. “Where the hell did you go?”</p>
<p>Carwood opened his mouth to answer, but the sound of an engine gave him pause. They all turned as a car pulled up to the curb and parked. A tall redhead exited the vehicle. His gaze zeroed in on Carwood and he looked relieved. “Lipton, I’m glad to see you’re okay,” he said approaching them.</p>
<p>“Oh, thank you, sir,” Carwood returned, a little stunned that Winters was bothering to check on him. Sure they were on friendly terms, the guy was serious, restrained, polite and clearly intelligent and educated so Lip had liked him from the beginning, but they weren’t friends. Not really. </p>
<p>“Holy shit.” Carwood frowned at Nix, elbowing him for his rudeness, but Nix completely ignored him, focused entirely on the captain, mouth slack in awe. “Goddamn, Gorgeous, what’s your name?”</p>
<p>Dick drew up short, casting a confused glance Lewis’s way. “What? Are you--” He looked behind him. “Who are you talking to?”</p>
<p>Nix walked forward and stepped right into the poor man’s personal space and caressed his arm, smiling slyly. Oh Jesus. Carwood watched that train wreck like it was coming in slow motion and there wasn’t anything he could do to stop it. </p>
<p>“You, Baby. You are sex on legs. Christ, I just wanna lick every inch of you. Wanna come inside? The drinks are on me. And I hope you’ll be on me, too soon enough.”</p>
<p>Carwood glanced at Ron helplessly and Ron shrugged, though he looked unwittingly impressed. </p>
<p>Dick did not look impressed, he looked appalled and irate. “Sir,” he managed through clenched teeth, “you’re drunk. Maybe you should catch a ride home, huh?”</p>
<p>“Good idea!” Carwood jumped to intercede before Nix got himself decked and he grabbed his boss’s arm. “I’ll drive him home.” He yanked on Lewis’s arm when Lew dug in his heels, stubbornly refusing to go. “Lewis, he’s a cop!” he hissed in his ear. “You’re going to get yourself arrested!”</p>
<p>That did absolutely nothing to snap Nix out of it, if anything the interested gleam in his eyes intensified. “Oooh, do you carry handcuffs, big boy?” he cooed. </p>
<p>“Oh God,” Carwood groaned. He kept pulling at Nix and said to Ron, “I’ve got to take him home.” He pushed a still protesting Lewis toward his car and called back, “I’m sorry, we’ll talk, okay?” Ron didn’t look happy but he nodded, shoving his hands in his pockets. Carwood watched Speirs in his rear-view mirror as he pulled away and he had to swallow his disappointment. He glanced at Lewis, slumped in the passenger seat. “You made a terrible impression on that man, Nix,” he said, trying to keep his tone even. “Dick is … not like the usual men you pursue.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, he’s about a hundred times hotter,” Lewis agreed, sounding dazed and a little gone over the guy already. </p>
<p>Oh no. “Lewis, I realize we’re not friends, but--”</p>
<p>“Not friends!?” Lewis sat up, and whacked his arm. His injured arm.</p>
<p>“Ow!”</p>
<p>“You deserved that. Of course we’re friends, idiot.” </p>
<p>Lip gave a lopsided grin. “Okay, okay. Look, just take it easy with Dick, all right?”</p>
<p>“Is that his name? Tell me everything about him.”</p>
<p>Carwood sighed, focusing on the road. “You’re impossible.”</p>
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